Here it is. Chapter 2 fresh from the beta check by the lovely Ms_Myth
I hope you guys like reading it as much as I love writing it. And yeah I'd be happy about any comments and constructive criticisms.
Chapter 2
It was quite picturesque how the flames licked along the walls and out through the windows almost like the tongues of lizards tasting the air for their next victim. He could feel the heat, even behind his mask, like a blanket wrapping tightly around him.
"Yah Allah, most merciful, what is going on here?" A thickly accented voice thundered through the night, drowning out the crackling of the flames for just a moment. Erik checked his watch, his eyes ghosting over the engraved letters for a second before focusing on the face. Half-past three. With a smile, he looked up at the older man, who briskly walked through the small crowd even while he had to lean heavily on his cane as he did so.
"Daroga. Right on time. I hope you told the coachman to wait." Erik greeted his rather unusual friend with a slightly crooked smile but only got a cane poking against his chest in return.
"Don't change the subject, boy! What do you think you're doing there?" the Persian asked, his stern dark eyes practically staring holes into Erik's mask as he waited for an answer.
Instead of getting one from the object of his apparent anger it was Gerard who stepped up with a face of thinly veiled contempt. "I'd like to ask you to mind your manners when addressing his Lordship?" Certainly, he was not happy to see his master threatened by a stranger.
A gloved hand was set on Gerard's shoulder as Erik took a step forward, brushing the Daroga's cane aside as he did so. "No need to be so hostile, Gerard. If there is one person who has earned the right to be rude to me it is our dear Daroga here. So be civil to him."
"His Lordship?" The Daroga seemed surprised to hear that, a deep frown growing on his face. Oh right. They had never talked about his upbringing, at least not very much. One could probably say that it was his fault for not telling his unlikely and unusual friend what to expect once they would arrive in England, but Erik refused to feel any guilt about delivering such a mild shock to the old Daroga of Mazandaran. Keeping him on his toes would keep the fellow young he was sure.
So with a smile of pure innocence, Erik cleared his throat. "Indeed, my dear friend. Finding both my parents deceased, it seems to fall on your good friend Erik here to carry the title and responsibility of the Earl of Devon, though this should not change anything between the two of us, of course."
Oh he knew exactly what was going on behind that frown. Surely the Daroga was worried about him of all people being handed responsibility for so many people beneath him, with everything the older man had witnessed in their years of acquaintance. And deep down, Erik had to admit that he couldn't even fault him for that worry.
"And before you start to get any wrong ideas. I had nothing to do with their passing. From what I have gathered my father lived for quite a few years after I had left England and I arrived here after my mother's passing."
"I would never think..." The Daroga started to say, but fell silent at Erik's knowing look. He might not want to suspect Erik of such depraved acts like parricide, but Erik knew that a small voice in the Daroga's head surely had wondered if he might have, if there was the possibility that he had something to do with their deaths.
"Forget about that. I asked you a question Erik." Erik could hear the quick intake of air from Gerard next to him at such casual use of his Christian name by somebody seemingly so much lower in social rank. "What is going on here?"
Feeling the heat on his back Erik smiled at his friend and shrugged nonchalantly. "You told me to turn my back on the past, did you not? I'm just heeding your counsel."
"Don't give me that smug grin, boy. You know exactly what I meant and I did not give you that advice so you could go and blow up your home!"
Of course, he knew. He knew exactly why the Daroga had told him to turn his back on his past when they had fled Persia, beaten and bloodied. But where was the fun in it when he wasn't able to twist things to his benefit and have a little fun? It wasn't like destroying Powderham Castle was a big loss for anybody and even though rebuilding a new mansion would take time, at least he could construct it to his own wishes. It would be his and no ghost of the past would be allowed inside its walls.
"Ah, why harp on about that?" He dismissed the topic with a thoughtless flick of his hand. "I may be a powerful magician, but even I can't rebuild a house with a snap of my finger. And it is getting late anyway so please can we go to the carriage and leave?"
"What about the servants, your lordship?" Gerard spoke out just as Erik wanted to start walking. Reminded of the roughly two dozen people, Erik noticed them again, still huddled around the fire and utterly confused with the situation.
"What about them?" he asked.
"Surely you don't intend to leave them out here just like this?"
Erik sighed deeply and gave the Daroga a look asking for support, but just got a stern nod in return. It seemed his friend also thought it - what - Impolite? Rolling his eyes at his friend's pesky morals, Erik turned his attention back to his butler.
"I arranged for them to be paid handsomely in a few hours' time, and even gave them time to gather their belongings before burning down the house. What more do you want from me? Surely that is more than enough. I have been generous enough to these people." He explained calmly though he could feel the irritation boiling up inside. The only reason why he had even bothered to be nice and compensate those people was because of his fondness for Gerard. He had done more than he would have been willing under different circumstances and it was still not enough?
"Of course Milord," was all Gerard said, his head lowered slightly as he took a step back. Oh, Erik knew this behavior very well. How often had he seen Gerard step back like this after his father had voiced his displeasure over some trivial thing the servants had done. It was meant to show submission and acceptance of the decisions made by the employer but in truth, it oozed a sense of 'I think you are utterly wrong but value my job too much to tell you to your face what I really think of you.'
He hated it. He hated knowing that Gerard was disappointed in him. He hated that he was being treated just like his father. He hated this god damn estate!
"Daroga, Gerard, we are leaving. Now." Erik practically growled and turned around on his heels. The carriage that the Persian had rented - and probably paid a handsome additional fee for such a late-night journey - was waiting at the gate to the estate, a good 500 meters away. But even there it was easy to see the flames still burning brightly as they consumed every last bit of Powderham Castle.
Seeing him approach, the coachman called out to him, "Oi, what happened? There was a loud bang and now everything's burning? Anybody hur...t." He gulped and fell silent as Erik finally stepped close enough that his face would have been visible, if not for the black void of his mask. While high society loved to make up reasons and excuses for unusual appearances - as long as they were pleasant enough to look at - the lower classes were less courteous and faster to draw conclusions steeped in religion and superstition. This coachman was no different, his eyes wide as his mind probably went through several prayers at the sight of a masked man with eyes of sulfur with the flames of hell behind him.
But Erik had neither patience nor time for any of this. So he just pulled out a small coin purse from his jacket and threw it up to the man. "Cowick Street in Exeter. And quickly."
The hour it took them to get to Exeter was spent in tense silence with Gerard and the Daroga not entirely knowing what to think of one another, considering their clashing cultural upbringings, while simultaneously being united in their disapproval of Erik's behavior. Not that this was anything new for the Earl, as he was sure at least the Persian disapproved of his actions more often than not. And yet he was still here, looking after him. Once again Erik found himself wondering why the Daroga cared at all.
Considering the hour they arrived at the small second-story apartment Erik had rented just a few days earlier - sending one of the servant boys to make the arrangements of course - it wasn't very surprising when the three men rather quickly found any place to lie down and fall asleep. Even Erik who normally had a rather unusual sleeping schedule, if one could even call it that, felt the exhaustion of the last few weeks and the rather unpleasant conversation with the two older men.
Several hours later, the sun had long since risen when Erik heard movements and groaning in the other room where he had left the Daroga and Gerard to sleep on the Sofas while he moved into the small kitchen. It wasn't the best place to work as the table was rather small, but as the living room was occupied by two rather loudly snoring men and the bedroom didn't have a table at all, it was all he had.
Sticking his head through the door, the Daroga noticed him looking up from the large piece of parchment he was currently bent over and grumbled, "I'm pretty sure I don't want to know how long you have been up already. What are you working on?"
"Lannion Hall." was all Erik said as he returned to drawing lines with a ruler and a sharpened pencil.
"Why do you blow up a perfectly good Manor just to start planning a new one right away?" the Daroga asked with a sigh, leaning against the doorframe, his hair quite disheveled as he had just risen from his sleep.
"Because this will be mine. No memories, no history, a blank slate. A Sanctuary. You said I should forget what happened in Tehran because otherwise, it would haunt me to the end of my days. Well, Tehran isn't the only place with bad memories."
"You didn't have a good relationship with your father I assume?" The Daroga asked, which drew a dry chuckle from Erik's thin lips as he once again looked up, a few strands of his hair brushing against his ears as they slipped out of the ribbon.
"No, we did not have a good relationship. Lords usually don't take it well when their only heir is a monster. Even less so than the common folk. A butcher could have just left me out in the woods to be devoured by wolves. But my father couldn't do that, who knew when, or if at all, his wife would bear him another son. Though I assume that during his last years he had wished he had just abandoned me anyway, even if my mother never managed to bear him another child." his tone was calm, almost clinical, but he could see that it hit the Daroga just as much as if he had yelled. Still clinging on to his faith, the mere thought of murdering a small child was barbaric to the former chief of police of Mazandaran, but to Erik it was a familiar thought that had long lost all its horror. How often had he wondered if his father would just make him disappear at the first sign of another child growing inside his mother. But she never bore another child, leaving him an only their only heir.
"I'm so-"
His amber eyes flashed dangerously as he stared at the Persian, silencing him. "Don't you dare. I'm going to throw you out of this window if you so much as think it." The last thing he wanted was anyone's pity, and even less so from somebody who actually knew him. "Go and wake up Gerard if he'd not up yet, and make yourself presentable. We have a long day ahead of us."
"Us? Why us?" The Daroga asked, his tone and body posture rather apprehensive, suspecting something horrible to come.
Erik just smiled as he drew the last line, signed the floor plan he had worked on for the last several hours and straightened himself, cracking a few joints in the process.
"Because I say so, my dear Daroga."